


To Make it Up to You

by orphan_account



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Bad Sex, Drunk Sex, F/M, Ghouls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-16
Updated: 2015-07-16
Packaged: 2018-04-09 15:41:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4354706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Courier decides to do a favor for Grecks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	To Make it Up to You

It was high noon in Freeside and there was a dead dog rotting in the gutter. Valentine was halfway surprised that no one had taken it home for stew meat, but then again, things had been improving ever since the Kings and the NCR had pulled their heads out of their collective asses and unified their relief efforts. Three weeks post-intervention, and Kieran's breadline had become a goddamn model of efficiency, andinstances of water theft were way down. All thanks to her, of course.

Val lit a cigarette and tossed the match into the gutter. It flared and died in a puff of smoke, and she jammed her fists deep into the pockets of her well-worn leather jacker. She side-stepped the dead dog and set out down the street at a leisurely pace. She’d stolen the jacket from an ex-boyfriend and the leather was butter-soft from years of wear. The elbows were patched and the collar was stained with decades of unknowable filth, but she'd been wearing it on the night she died and on the night she'd come home to Freeside. It was part of her mythos, along with her peroxide-blonde hair and her rifle, the one she called Paciencia.

The gun was in the Lucky 38 in its case. She didn't like carrying it in Freeside. Fighting in Freeside was close-quarters, no room to draw a long-barreled rifle, and heavy artillery marked you out as someone with something to protect. Only idiots and tourists carried rifles and plasma guns in Freeside. Val was neither. Everyone in the slum knew her, either as the Courier or as the gal who'd fucked half the Kings. Going lightly-armed was an old habit, ingrained from a lifetime in Freeside and other slums like it. Reno, the Boneyard, the Hub. The cities were all the same, in the end. Only difference was the people living in 'em.

Take Grecks. The ugliest son-of-a-bitch she'd ever met, and she'd met plenty a sons-of-bitches. He stood on the curb halfway down the street, still wearing that sweater vest despite the noon heat. It was his trademark the way her jacket was hers, and it was almost enough to distract from the eye. She hadn't spoken to him since she'd made the rounds on behalf of the Garret twins.

He cringed when he saw her, and given the way their last conversation had gone, she didn't blame him. No one likes a debt-collector and she'd stopped just short of demanding the clothes off his back. They’d parted on less-than-friendly terms, and Val was struck with the sudden desire to make it up to him. Buy him a drink, maybe.

"Mendoza." He said her name the way you might say ‘backwash’ or ‘sewage.’

"Grecks." She took another drag off her cigarette, searching for words. "How've you been?"

"Better since you left," he said flatly.

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that."

"We don't talk," he said, clenching his hands into fists at his sides.

"I want to make it up to you."

"Great. Fuck off and never talk to me again."

"God dammit, Grecks." She threw her cigarette on the ground, extinguished it with a twist of her heel. "I'm trying to do something nice for you, pendejo,” she snapped. “Shut your damn mouth and let me buy you a drink."

He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he crossed his arms and stared over her shoulder, mouth pressed into a thin line. She rolled her eyes and fished another cigarette from her breast pocket. She lit up using her last match, then let the spent match and empty book fall from her fingers. She took a deep drag, held the smoke for a count of three, released it through her nose. She was starting to wonder how long he was going to keep her waiting when he said, "yeah, fine. Let's go to the Wrangler, unless you're springing for one of those fancy bars on the Strip."

She rolled her eyes. "Wrangler it is."

Grecks ordered a rum-and-Nuka, Val bought herself a bottle of wine and a gin and tonic to start. She lead him to her usual booth in the corner, well away from the stage, the spotlights, and the slots. The stage was empty, but the poster tacked up by the door proclaimed that “HIGHBALL HUGH AND DUFF THE DUMMY” would be performing that week, one night only. Val elbowed Grecks and made a snide comment; he smiled grimly. She considered his thin-lipped smile a victory and gave up on trying to engage him.

They drank in silence. Val smoked another cigarette and played with the overfull ashtray in the center of the table. The next time the waitress came around, Grecks ordered himself a whiskey sour. Val asked for a tequila shot, and started in on the wine while she waited for the next round.

The wine was cheap stuff, vinegar in a green, pre-war bottle, but Val didn't much mind. She'd had a taste of top-shelf liquor in Vegas: cocktails made with flavorless vodka and smooth cream liqueurs, garnished with orange peels and served in gleaming highball glasses. She’d gotten drunker than she intended to and threw up in a swimming pool, and that had been the end of that. She preferred the cheap and the bitter; the burn made you drink slowly.

The waitress returned with their drinks. Val nodded graciously and poured herself a second glass of wine and one for Grecks. She was starting to feel the effects of her first two drinks; her face was warm, the dim lighting seemed romantic. Grecks was watching her intently, mottled brow furrowed in a frown.

And it might have been her buzz, it might have been that she was feeling magnanimous or just plain lonely. But very deliberately, very carefully, she reached under the table and put her hand on his crotch. He started, but didn’t stand up or push her hand away. Instead, he spread his legs a little, relaxed down into the seat, granting her easier access. And hell, this wasn’t what she'd had in mind when she'd said she wanted to make it up to him, but if he was game, then she was, too.

With her free hand, she undid a button on her blouse. Grecks watched her movements intently, shifting in his seat when she tugged her collar open, exposing a little more of her throat. She smiled at him, then reached over and plucked the cherry from his glass. She popped it into her mouth, letting her fingers rest in her mouth for a fraction of a second longer than necessary. Underneath the table, she massaged his groin with the heel of her hand and felt his dick perk up in response.

Val pulled her hand away and Grecks groaned at the withdrawal. "You're killing me, Mendoza."

"You want to come up to my room or what? I got a mirror on the ceiling; you can watch yourself fuck me."

He stared at her. "You're screwing with me," he said, flatly.

She rolled her eyes again. “I’m drunk, I’m horny. You’re right there. Come on.” She slid out of the booth and moved towards the stairs, pausing with her hand on the banister to wink at him over her shoulder. Grecks stood, stumbling over his feet in his haste, and followed her like a dog.

The door had barely closed behind him when she started shucking her clothes off. She removed her jacket and let it fall to the floor, next came her blouse, then her pants and panties. She had a hand on the clasp of her bra when Grecks moved to kiss her and she turned her head away, gently rebuffing him. “None of that," she said softly.

His expression was a mask of disappointment. To distract him, she took his hand and guided it to her tits, at which point he remembered that he was a man in a room with a half-dressed woman and instinct took over. He pushed her towards the bed, and she let herself fall, pulling him down beside her.

"Christ, you're beautiful," he said, running his marred hands over her smooth, bronze skin. He traced a line from her hip to her breasts, then tugged at her bra, pulling the cups away from her tits. She put her hands on his and helped him push it down, revealing her dark nipples. She cupped her breasts, pouting exaggeratedly, and he took over for her, helping himself to two generous handfuls of her tits and squeezing.

She hissed in pain. "Gentle," she snapped.

"Sorry," he muttered. He continued his exploration more gently, palming her breasts and tweaking her nipples. "Incredible," he whispered. "Just fucking incredible." He occupied himself with her bosom, clumsily twisting and flicking and sucking.

She stared at the mirrored ceiling. He was still dressed, still wearing that damn sweater vest. It made for a starkly unerotic image. She grimaced. He wasn’t hurting her, but he sure-as-hell wasn’t pleasuring her. It must have been years, maybe decades since he’d touched a boob, but she was getting bored and her buzz was starting to wear off. She wasn’t as horny as she’d been in the bar, and Grecks was handling her tits with all the grace of a 13-year-old boy. Eager to move things along before she sobered up completely, Val reached down and grabbed his dick through his pants. She found her clit with her other hand; his inept fumbling had done nothing for her level of arousal.

"God, wow. Are you ready?”

"Let's just get this over with," she muttered. Val rolled over and presented her ass to him. If she didn't have to look at him, she could pretend he was someone else; that she was somewhere else.

She heard the clink of a belt buckle, a zipper, and then his dick brushed her seam. She shivered in anticipation, canting her hips back towards him suggestively. Nothing happened. More fumbling, a muffled curse, and one of his hands landed on her hip. She felt his head against her cunt, and thought _finally_. Supporting her weight with her elbows, rolled her clit between her index finger and thumb, holding her breath in anticipation. This was more like it.

He pressed into her and she let out a gusty sigh. Another hand landed on her waist, and he started thrusting, balls smacking against her ass with every jerky movement. He had a good-sized cock for a ghoul, but his movements were as erratic and amateurish as his handling of her tits had been. She ground her teeth and pushed back against him, trying to take more of him, trying to find an angle where his shaft would brush up against her clit. No dice. She started masturbating again, eager to get one or both of them off and be done with it.

Grecks pounded into her, grunting in exertion. A beat of sweat rolled down her forehead and her wrist started to cramp up. Val pressed her face against the bedspread and switched hands. She was getting close. Another couple minutes, maybe, and she'd be over the edge.

Somewhere above her, Grecks let out a guttural moan. He stopped thrusting and she felt his dick twitch inside of her. There was a warm, wet gush inside of her, and he pulled out, trailing spunk. She groaned in frustration and rolled over, crossing her arms over her breasts. Not today, then.

Grecks knelt on the edge of the bed, dick hanging out of his pants. He watched her, put a hand out to stroke her as though she were a cat. "I can't believe I'm the last man in Freeside to see you like this," he said. There was no malice in his voice; he spoke as though commenting on the weather.

Valentine was not amused. "Get the fuck out of here, Grecks."

"Christ, sorry. Me and my big mouth. Let me buy you dinner, I'll make it up to you--"

She sat up, eyes flashing in anger. "So help me god, I will kill you. Get out."

He scrambled off the bed, away from her. "Fine. God. You don't have to be such a bitch." He packed himself away, stooped to pick something up off the floor, and stomped out of the room, slamming the door behind him. She scooped her boot up and threw it after him, it glanced off the door and fell to the ground with a soft thump. Val grunted in frustration and fell back onto the bed, staring at her reflection. She could feel Grecks’ come dripping out of her, running down her leg and soaking into the filthy mattress. She shuddered and rolled over to get away from the wet patch.

She sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the bed. She needed a cigarette and a hot bath, something to help her forget the feel of Grecks’ hands on her tits and waist. The memory of his touch set her skin to crawling, and she shuddered again, repulsed. She didn’t have anything against ghouls, but Grecks? What had she been thinking?

She gathered up her clothes and started to dress. With her blouse and jacket on, she already felt more like herself. This was a story in the making; something to laugh about with Cass. Her optimism soured when she realized her panties were missing.

“Grecks, you miserable son of a bitch,” she said, voice echoing slightly in the empty room. Maybe he’d wanted them as a trophy, something to prove to his buddies that he’d fucked her. Maybe he was going to sell them; she didn’t doubt that there was someone somewhere in Freeside that would pay for her dirty underpants. Maybe he wanted them as a memento, a fucked-up token of the lady’s favor. That was somehow the worst possibility.

She pulled her pants on, taking care not to catch herself in the zipper, cursing Grecks and her own rotten judgment the entire time. She was going to be hearing about this one for years; she could already tell.


End file.
